


Under P for "Personnel"

by TheatreGirl79



Series: Torchwood: Lost Archives [7]
Category: Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 15:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1904220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatreGirl79/pseuds/TheatreGirl79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>Exit Wounds</i> Ianto has a duty to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under P for "Personnel"

_2009_

Ianto Jones carried the two metal cases down the final set of stairs before the door he needed. He gently placed them down on a small table that sat next to the old wooden door. He dug through the pockets of his black suit until he found the rusty key. Producing it from his pocket, he made a mental note to look into replacing the locks on this particular door, to make sure they could always get in to the room that lay beyond.

Swinging the heavy door open he propped a small stone gargoyle against it so it would not shut on him. Someone at some point in time had decided that a gargoyle would be an appropriate guardian to what lay inside this part of the archives. Ianto didn’t feel like changing it, but he had mused on adding a small dragon statue as well. He looked down at the name inscribed on the top box. Perhaps a dragon would be appropriate, culturally and all that.

He flipped on the light switch and turned back to the small, wooden table. Ianto curled his fingers around the bottom of the lower box and held them up, carrying both boxes together rather reverently; like Mum’s favourite roast or a babe being offered up. He stepped into the rather large room, his shoes clacking loudly in the silence.

Lining each wall of the long room, was shelves upon shelves of various metal cases, similar to the ones he held now. Yes, the metal compounds, and the styles of the cases had changed over the last century, but they still had that same look, that same purpose.

The room felt impossibly long. It had not been designed as part of the base, but rather as an afterthought to a particularly rough year for Torchwood. It had been a hallway between various parts of the lower archives, now it was a mausoleum of sorts. Along each wall, top to bottom, was a small nook where was stored the essential personal effects of every former Torchwood employee. Even if there had been no body, their items were moved down here after five years, the standard amount of time to keep a search file open in case whatever took them should punt them back towards Cardiff.

Ianto walked about ten feet into the room and turned to his right. They were starting to get short on space down here. Ianto was amazed at that, considering it ran the entire length of the archives. He crouched down to the final two slots in the one column. He hated to have them so close to the ground, but it was protocol. He, also, did not particularly like the fact that they had to be stored next to Suzie, but it would have to do.

He balanced the two cases on his knees and ran his fingers over the information tag he had just affixed to the top. Looking at Toshiko’s name, written in as neat of hand as he had ever managed, made his heart ache. A dull throb seemed to want to bore out his chest. Not even realizing he was doing it, Ianto pulled out a pen and initialed the tag, indicating that he was the one to put it into the archives. He gripped the sides of the case and slid it into its spot.

He let out a breath and then looked down on the other case. As he looked upon Owen’s name, he swore he could hear the doctor chiding him in his head, telling him to get on with it. The corners of his mouth barely raised as he tried to smile, knowing that was exactly what Owen would be telling him, with a couple of choice words thrown in just for him. What he wouldn’t give to have Owen mocking him one more time.

Feeling the heat of tears at the back of his eyes, Ianto initialed the tag on Owen’s case and slid it in to its final resting place. Tucking his pen away in an interior pocket of his suit jacket, Ianto took a long look at the two cases resting side-by-side.

“How appropriate,” he said to no one in particular. 

An unbearable silence echoed back at him, pressing down on his mind. He touched his fingers to the cases that were all he had left of his two friends. The grooves of the metal as much a memory of them as the feel of Tosh’s soft hands enclosed over his or Owen’s hands grabbing at his neck as they fought over something or other. Before he could get any more maudlin, Ianto pushed himself up and stood before them. He automatically bowed his head in respect and then proceeded out the door, closing his jacket around him.

Shutting off the light and moving the gargoyle aside, he slid the door shut, locking it with the antiquated key. Holding the key between his thumb and forefinger, he began to memorize the rust pattern along its length. He dropped the key into his jacket pocket, but did not leave. Ianto held out a hand to the door, then pressed down upon it. Bringing his other hand up, he held onto the door, willing them to yell at him from inside the door, scream at him how this was all some terrible mistake. 

Ianto saw Toshiko’s apologetic eyes looking at him as she had when she failed to get something right. She was not to blame. He could see Owen’s cocky smirk as he realized he had beat death one more time. He had actually beaten death, but now it had come to collect, big time. Ianto moved his head close to the door and leaned his forehead against the old wood. For the first time since it had happened, he cried.

Great gobs of big wet tears fell down his face as Ianto Jones cried over the loss of two people who had been a part of his life and made themselves a part of his soul. He slowly spun himself around until his back was leaning against the door. Sliding down the door, Ianto let himself collapse into a heap, barely paying any heed to the cloud of dust that settled on his trousers. He held his knees to his chest, hugging his legs, making himself as small of a target as he could in this universe, and he cried.

When they watched the message Toshiko had left for them, Ianto had not been able to cry even then. He could never let himself lose it like that again. When he cried for Lisa, when they killed her, no one knew that was the first time he had mourned what she had lost since Canary Wharf. Now, he cried, fat tears spilling down his face and dotting his red shirt.

He cried for the loss of two very special people who understood him in ways no one else did. Tosh was the best friend he had lacked for years and Owen… Owen was like an older brother to him. Sure they had their arguments and gunfights, but in the end, they had each other’s back like no one else did. He cried, worried about how Jack and Gwen would survive this. How would he? He cried, wondering if this could happen to them and to the city, what would the future bring them all. Ianto Jones sat down in the archives and cried.

After a while, Ianto pulled out a handkerchief from his suit jacket and wiped his eyes, and dabbed at his sniffling nose. He let the tears finish falling and dried off his cheeks. He sat cross-legged, his back leaning against the door that housed the figurative remains of the fallen of Torchwood. One day he would take his place in there. He only hoped it wouldn’t be none too soon. Although, he didn’t know how many more friends or lovers he could bury in his lifetime before he wanted to join them. Dying wasn’t hard, living on without those you had lost was.

Grabbing the doorknob, Ianto pulled himself up and stood before the door. He looked around the small alcove that had been designed when they had boarded up the hallway. It was a hidden doorway, found through a maze in the archives, but it was good. If anyone ever got into the archives, at least they shouldn’t find this door, and those at peace would stay at peace.

“Goodbye, my friends,” Ianto choked out. He repeated a small prayer his mother had taught him when he was a child and then started the long walk back upstairs to the Hub, and to the life that remained, any sign of the tears that he had shed gone from his visage.

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally published on July 2, 2009._


End file.
